


Someone's waiting to love you

by Erazon



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Pre-series oneshot, implicit references to child neglect, it's about baby Cass so it's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erazon/pseuds/Erazon
Summary: If a child cries, alone in the woods under the moonlight's watch, and nobody is around to hear nor remember - did it ever truly happen?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	Someone's waiting to love you

_You must try to be brave, little one_

_Someone's waiting to love you._

* * *

Mama is in a bad mood again. Cassandra can tell because her footfalls become heavier and she mutters to herself under her breath, rifling through drawers with excessive force. Cassandra dutifully tucks herself into the corner of the room, out of sight and out of mind. It’s a negotiation; stay out of Mother’s way when she’s upset, and she won’t notice you. Then Mama storms off again, slamming the door shut behind her so that it rattles on its hinges. Cassandra is thankful for the new silence, and sets about preparing the vegetables that will go in tonight’s soup, because having dinner already fixed will surely put Mama in a better mood. 

It doesn’t, but her mood doesn’t sour further, so she counts it as a win. 

Under the midnight moon’s watch Cassandra slips out of the cottage on featherlight tiptoes, her blanket trailing behind her as she clutches it in a clammy fist. The frigid wind cuts through her skin down to the bone, but winter’s kiss is soothing nonetheless. Her whole body shivers, and once the thrill of the chill burn subsides into just plain cold, she wraps her blanket around her shoulders and continues waddling along. The bridge across the stream is rickety, but she is too small to cause it to creak. The ropes swing when she throws her weight around, but they never give. When she gets bored she sits and waves her legs back and forth over the water, which reflects the light of the winking stars and crashes upon the rocks and muffles the sound of her crying. 

Stealing away in the night to sit on the bridge and cry is becoming part of her routine, and the catharsis is worth the fear of getting caught. In fact, she’s almost sure Mama isn’t concerned so long as her slumber isn’t disturbed- which is why it’s important to sneak out of the house in search of privacy instead of weeping to herself in her bed like a fool. It’s alright; she likes the privacy. 

It is dangerous past the boundary of the cottage, or so Mama says, but Cassandra isn’t interested in adventuring out. She’s made this spot her own, complete with dents in the wooden planks from when she got bored once and decided to start chewing on them. Here she can whimper and whine to her heart’s content, each stuttering sob bubbling forth like an overflowing dam. Yet still she understands the virtue of restraint; if she wails the way she wants to she will surely wake up Mama. Her emotions are a faucet to be controlled, never to let leak or to let burst. These nights are her maintenance, releasing the pressure so that neither two occur. 

Some of the tears drip down from her round cheeks and splash into the water below, their ripples bouncing into each other before being washed away by the current. When the last one falls she makes a wish, and rubs her splotchy cheeks dry with the rough fabric of her blanket and presses her fists into her eyes until they’re dry as well. She’s not exactly refreshed, but she’s resolute. Shaking out her thick tangles of curls, she stands back up and steadies herself on the bridge’s robe handrail, and holds her head high. By now her sight has adjusted well enough to walk freely under the moonlight’s guidance, and she slips back into the cottage like a shadow. Her midnight excursions take their toll on her rest- Mama still expects her up bright and early to start her chores, but she treasures her time to herself nonetheless. 

With the pain washed away far downstream by now, Cassandra allows herself to dwell on kinder thoughts as she rests. The sun will rise tomorrow, and the birds will wake and sing their morning song, and Mama will be in a better mood. With that thought in mind she drifts off, a small smile playing on her lips.

When she dreams, she dreams of running alongside the deer that graze outside the window on warm nights, of splashing in the stream as fish swim between her legs, of a smile that gazes down at her with nothing but love and adoration.

* * *

Guard Officer Chevalier knows he has become something of a novelty, being the only squadron officer to have returned that night with a child- only that he had brought home the wrong one. The King regarded him with scrutiny, but the Queen- grief stricken as she remains- was sympathetic to his plight. The witch who had stolen Princess Rapunzel had led his squad to a cottage housing an unsupervised child, and in the confusion she had cut off their access to pursuit and stolen away, leaving him a different missing daughter as a consolation prize. 

Chevalier is unsure if the King had decided to show him mercy or if he is just too fatigued to follow up on any penalty or punishment. Since the removal of the Captain, the Coronan Guard has been in disarray enough without throwing more sackings in the mix. Either way he is grateful, because the thought of losing his position because of this child is an ugly one. 

The child is quiet. He’s thankful for that, because he doesn’t know how to deal with wailing cries or frightful tantrums. He’s glad that she mostly knows how to deal with herself, because that makes one of them. He watches her sit, tucked up in the windowsill, wrapped up in her blanket like a nest. She’s staring out at the moon, and he doesn’t see the silent tears trailing down her cheeks.

Despite himself, he’s taken a shine to her; she’s stalwart, patient, brave. She’s soft, as any four year old girl ought to be, but still made of sterner stuff- and unlike the screaming rascals at the orphanage, she understands and respects authority. The decision to become a foster parent is a surprisingly easy one. He is in no way prepared for a child, and certainly not one as troubled as this one, but he can’t stand the thought of sending her away to be ruined by the crucible of brutal peer hierarchy that is the orphanage. She has far too much promise for that. He is no father, but for her he is willing to play the part until they can find someone willing to take her into their family, and give her the love she deserves. 

He’s sure they’ll manage- he’s sure she can be patient.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing I wrote out after listening to the rescuers soundtrack on repeat


End file.
